


Someone Who’ll Treat Me the Way I Deserve to Be Treated

by Cleanliving_dirtymind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Captive Prince allusions, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Head Auror Harry Potter, Humor, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Tanned! Draco, Ten Years Later, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:45:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleanliving_dirtymind/pseuds/Cleanliving_dirtymind
Summary: It's ten years since the war and Harry Potter is Head Auror. When Hermione is knocked out by a mysterious primitive magical object, there's only one person who might be able to help bring her round: a reclusive wizard living on the other side of the world who's an expert in his field. The local Ministry of Magic sends Potter some pensieve surveillance footage, and he realises the mystery man is Draco Malfoy. Why is Draco living in New Zealand, with a tan, a hot muggle fuckbuddy and a giant mansion? And why, when they spend just a few days together, does he feel like the only person who understands exactly what Harry needs?





	Someone Who’ll Treat Me the Way I Deserve to Be Treated

**Author's Note:**

> I really should be doing a lot of other things right now, but this damn story just wouldn't get out of my head. I have written it down in the hope that it will now feel as though it can leave me alone. If you enjoy it, do let me know, any encouragement will in any luck keep me motivated to write the things I should be writing...
> 
> Big thanks to my favourite AO3 authors for many hours of happy reading.

“You’re telling me we don’t know what it is, or where she got it from, or what it’s done?”

Harry ran his hands through his hair and paced around the room. Not that there was much space to storm around in the Ministry’s interrogation rooms. He’d dragged the five most qualified Ministry experts to one place in the hopes of getting some answers, plus Cho Chang who had been consulting with one of the lead Healers on the case. They all watched Harry warily. Seeing Hermione lying in the bed at St Mungos, almost as good as dead, was driving him crazy. He wasn’t used to problems like this, ones with no solution. He wanted something that he could charge at, head first, take a huge risk and save the day. Not sit there talking about archaic magical objects while his friend lay there at death’s door.

“We think it’s from the third century and we think it’s Polynesian in origin, but those are only guesses,” said Harriet Pendragon, a short witch with curly blonde hair and pink cheeks, who looked nothing like a specialist in Dark Magic; she always came as a surprise to the bad guys. But Harry was in no mood for guesses. He wanted to ask her what the hell they employed her for, because it sure as hell wasn’t fucking stabs in the fucking dark. He decided, on balance, that it wouldn’t be a helpful line of questioning.

Harry addressed all five of them: “So who the hell does know what this thing is that’s knocked her out? Is there not someone who can figure it out?”

The skinny nervous wizard in the corner cleared his throat. He was Matthias Merlin, a historian and expert in magical artefacts. He always stayed as far away from Harry as physically possible, as though he was afraid Harry might explode. In this particular instance, Merlin was probably onto something. Harry felt like he wanted to explode.

“There is one guy,” said Merlin, quietly, “who might be able to help. But we can’t get hold of him.”

“What the fuck!” Harry yelled. “Get hold of him!”

“We’ve been trying since this first happened, every day for the past week we’ve been owling him and emailing him and calling him…” Pendragon started to explain.

“Well where the hell is he and I’ll go and get him myself, right now!” Harry shouted.

“Um, he’s in New Zealand,” said Merlin apologetically. “We’ve been in touch with the New Zealand Ministry of Magic and we’ve got a file on him.” He passed it to Harry, who didn’t bother opening it.

“I don’t want a fucking file,” he snarled. “I want Hermione fixed. I will go to New Zealand now and I will find this guy.”

Merlin went to pick up the file.

“No, leave that with me,” Harry snapped, feeling only marginally guilty about contradicting himself. He opened the file and looked at the name at the top. “Laurent de Vere,” he said to himself.

Cho called over her shoulder as she was leaving: “Well that’s not his real name.”

Harry looked up. “What?”

“That’s a fake name.” She turned back and stepped into the room, glancing at the file. “It’s from a book. A series, actually. Muggle stuff.”

“Okay, write down the details of the series. I’m going to go meet Mr Fake Laurent and get him back here by whatever means necessary.”

Cho nodded, looking worried and glanced over at the file. “Looks like they’re sending some reconnaissance on him. Pensieve memories. I’ll check the owlery.”

Harry read through the file. He had to read every sentence about three times to soak it in. The man calling himself Laurent de Vere was reclusive to the point of elusive. The New Zealand Ministry for Magic, small though it was, had been keeping an eye on Mr de Vere because he was a powerful wizard and he was the owner of Charmed Life Ltd, which produced the AllOne. Harry glanced down at his own hand where he had an AllOne embedded in a ring. Most witches and wizards had one somewhere on themselves; usually in a piece of jewellery, sometimes loose in a box or bag or even a pocket. But since they’d been invented five years ago, there was almost nobody who didn’t have one. The AllOne prevented splinching.

Not a single splinching death or injury had been recorded among witches and wizards using the AllOne. It was an impressive record. He must be rolling in money, thought Harry, and he must have saved hundreds of lives and prevented thousands of injuries. Yet he didn’t want to be famous, nobody seemed to know what he looked like, and he was able to ignore not only his own local Ministry but the clout of the UK’s mighty Ministry too. Of course, he would be one of the few wizards alive with the money to be able to cloud his identity and avoid exposure. Lucky bastard, thought Harry, although he knew that he himself was probably one of the only other wizards with the money to take a fake name. It wouldn’t be the first time Harry had fantasised about leaving his job and getting away from it all.

Cho came back in with a pensieve and a small tightly-wrapped package. “This just arrived.” She put the pensieve down in front of him and unwrapped a test tube and a note. She passed the note to Harry without reading it.

_To whom it may concern,_

_We know very little about Laurent de Vere. His company appears to be above board. He lives in a quiet rural area on the beachfront (address attached) and is in contact with only a few wizards. We believe he is English. Because we know he is powerful and he has ignored all our entreaties to help, we sent one of our Aurors to gather what intelligence she could in her Animagus form. These are her memories. We hope they help._

_Anything else we can do to assist in the recovery of Ms Granger, please do let us know._

_Kind regards,_

_Waimarie Mana_

_Head Auror (NZ)_

Underneath someone had added a handwritten note: _Cho, my darling, you’ll enjoy the hell out of this. If only all my assignments were this much fun. ; )_

Harry showed Cho the postscript and she raised her eyebrows as she tipped the contents of a test tube into the pensieve. He took a deep breath and went into the memories.

\\\\\

The animagus whose memories he was in was a bird of some kind, sitting in a squat palm tree. Below him a fat chest puffed out like a massive pigeon wearing a white vest. As he turned his head he could see the ocean, dotted with islands, the sea glittering like a postcard. It felt good even second-hand. In front of him was the back of an enormous house, extremely modern, all angles and minimalism. The exact opposite of most wizarding houses, and all the more appealing because of it. It was an outright rejection of magic tradition. The enormous swimming pool was almost overkill considering how close the sea was, but he could certainly see the appeal. The whole scene was decadent, luxurious and beautiful.

A dark head was swimming in the pool with a stubby ponytail. Emerging from the pool, Harry could see it was a man. Definitely a man. All man. Muscular, dark-tanned and heavily tattooed, this was a specimen of masculinity, in a tight blue swimsuit. Clearly the Animagus felt the same way, because the pensieve memory dwelled appreciatively on the man’s form for some time. He towelled himself off and lay on a deck chair, lazily stroking his hand over his hair. Muggle, Harry suspected.

“Laurent!” he called out. Lor-UNT, it sounded like, in his accent. So this wasn’t the mysterious Mr de Vere. Shame, Harry wouldn’t have minded manhandling this guy back to the UK.

But then the second guy walked out from inside the house, and Harry felt his entire perspective shift and realign. The second man was tall, slender and ridiculously good looking. In only a pair of similarly tight briefs to the first man, he had a golden tan all over, with his blonde body hair catching the sunlight as he moved. His huge reflective aviator sunglasses hid a lot of his face, but Harry’s eye caught on his white-gold hair shining in the sun, cut brutally short on the sides and longer on top. It was an expensive haircut for a man who might have been made of money. It shouldn’t have been so attractive. Some atavistic part of Harry’s brain looked at this long-legged golden creature and said, _Mine. This one. This is the one I want._

“Anton. What do you need?” Laurent walked languidly toward the other man, a glass in one hand. That forearm had a tattoo reaching from above his wrist to below his elbow, though it seemed to be his only one.

“I need you to come fuck me on this sun lounger,” said Anton, stretching out lasciviously.

Laurent smirked at him. “I don’t have time for that. I’ve got to make a call in ten minutes.” He walked closer to Anton and offered him the glass.

Anton sat up straighter. “What is it you do again? How the hell do you afford a place like this when you’re so young?”

“None of your damn business,” said Laurent smoothly. Harry had a better view of Laurent now and there was something about him that was trickling through his memory. He stared at the scars on Laurent’s chest, pale white lines through the perfect gold musculature. That trickle became a current, and then the floodgates opened and he realised who he was looking at. _Draco Malfoy_. Laurent de Vere was Draco Malfoy. It was Malfoy who might be able to save Hermione. Malfoy who had invented the AllOne. Malfoy who was living on the other side of the world, their last hope. It was Malfoy he was going to need to manhandle back to the UK, and didn’t that cause him a wave of emotion he didn’t know what to do with?

He forced himself to focus on the memories again. Anton was kissing Laurent – Malfoy – and trying to get his briefs off.

Malfoy pulled away. “No, last time I fucked a guy here I had to buy new cushions for all the sun loungers, I couldn’t get the lube out.” He walked back into the house.

Anton followed him: “Bet I’ve got time to suck you off before your meeting though,” he said with determination.

Malfoy laughed and it was strange to hear it: a genuine, happy laugh from this golden-tanned version of Malfoy.

The memory faded out. Harry shook off the swirling feelings and found himself back in the little white-walled interrogation room, which was cold and sterile after the palm-tree-lined sun-filled resplendence of Malfoy’s mansion. He adjusted his dick, which had perked up in anticipation of some high-quality porn, and stood up, taking the memories back out of the pensieve and putting the test tube into an inside pocket on his robes.

He glared at Cho. “I’m leaving now, and I’m coming back with M… Mr de Vere. Tell Ron and keep an eye on Hermione. Let me know if her condition changes.” He rubbed his head, trying not to think of Hermione lying there, comatose, frozen in stasis.

Cho raised her eyebrows again. “Okay. Shouldn’t you take someone with you? How are you going to make this guy do what you want?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said fiercely. “I’ll force him.”

“Yes but… You can’t just do anything to a guy like this. He’s powerful and rich – and if you piss off or injure or kill the guy who makes the AllOnes, there are going to be serious consequences. Even for you.”

Harry smiled grimly. “Cho, you’re going to have to trust me on this one. I know exactly how to push this guy’s buttons.”

///

There was a long wait at the International Portkey Station to get to New Zealand, even after Harry pulled every string he could tug on. He spent the time reading Captive Prince, which featured as a main character Laurent de Vere, a devious blond beauty with a vicious streak a mile wide. This Laurent character was extremely unlikable and Harry couldn’t see any way that he could be redeemed. By the time he arrived in New Zealand and spent his first night at a hotel, he had finished the series, which turned out to be violent, filthy and enormously erotic. There was something uncomfortable about imagining Malfoy reading this. It made Harry oddly nervous about seeing Malfoy.

He slept for as long as he could manage and then visited the New Zealand Ministry of Magic. He’d failed to pack the right clothes and found himself sweaty and cross when he got there. Everyone was keen to shake his hand and he felt self-conscious about how damp his palm was as he was paraded around the Ministry by Waimarie Mana. She introduced him to her assistant, Gordon Medulla, who explained all the efforts they had made in an attempt to make contact with Laurent de Vere. de Vere’s assistant, said Medulla, had brushed off every single overture. Medulla had sent Aurors to his house and none had made it through the wards on the front gates, which were some distance from the house. All in all, the only information they had on de Vere was a blurb on the Charmed Life website and his research papers on primitive magical artefacts.

Harry had already been given summaries of the papers. He’d tried to read them and struggled; they were pure academic language, incredibly dry. Obviously Laurent de Vere/Draco Malfoy was some kind of genius at these things. Harry didn’t need the details. He needed the man himself. In a purely professional context, obviously. Not, like… Just needed him to get Hermione well again. Turning down all Mana’s offers of assistance, Harry took the portkey closest to Malfoy’s house and then began to walk.

The sun was beating down and he quickly started to overheat, eventually shedding his robes completely and walking in his t-shirt and shorts along the quiet country road. If he hadn’t spent the past ten years as an Auror, there was no way he would have even seen the gates. As it was he had to send his patronus ahead to scout for the gates. When he found them, battling through a mind-numbing fog, he looked for wards. After a hot half-hour of inspecting the huge steel gates and casting spells to remove wards, Harry finally figured out the problem. They weren’t warded. Somehow Malfoy had made the gates _themselves_ repel people, rather than adding wards to the gates.

Harry didn’t know how Malfoy had done it; he was reluctantly impressed. Thinking about Hermione made it easy enough for Harry to muster up enough energy to slice through the steel and get into the driveway. Walking up the driveway, he felt his magic swirling around him angrily. The frustration of Hermione’s condition, the heat of the day, the confusing maelstrom of feelings he had about seeing Malfoy for the first time in ten years – it all coalesced into magic that radiated off him. Whenever he got this way at the Ministry, nobody would come anywhere near him. Just the kind of mood to make Malfoy do exactly what he wanted. He arrived at the double height black front door and knocked, not only with his fist but also with his magic, rattling the whole doorframe and shaking the foundations of the house.

Eventually, the door opened and there was Malfoy, looking every bit as golden and elegant as he had in the pensieve memories. Up close he was just as beautiful. He raised one aristocratic eyebrow. But he didn’t raise a wand. He wasn’t even holding one.

“Potter,” he drawled, as though it had only been ten days since he had last seen Harry instead of a decade. “I was a bit concerned that someone had broken through my gates. I suppose I should be flattered that you’re the only one to get through. You were always a special case. Come in. I’ll get you a drink. You look terrible.”

Harry stepped into a huge cool atrium and instantly felt some of his anger dissipate. He knew he looked terrible and having Malfoy point it out calmed him down somehow. He followed Malfoy into a massive modern kitchen and took the drink that he was handed. Sitting down at the kitchen island, Harry took a slurp of something cold and lemony and sighed.

“What brings you all the way to New Zealand? Surely I’m no longer a person of interest to the Ministry.” Malfoy leaned on the island and Harry tried not to notice his tanned biceps and white teeth.

“I need your help,” said Harry, knowing his tone was more aggressive than the situation required.

“Alright,” said Malfoy agreeably. “Whatever you need.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Alright, whatever you need’,” Malfoy repeated slowly, as though Harry was hard of hearing.

“Just like that?” Harry was suspicious. “Apparently we’ve been owling you and the Ministry here’s been sending people to your house for a week.”

“My assistant screens everything. Potter,” he said calmly, leaning back, “as if I could refuse you anything. You’re the Chosen One. And you saved my life and stopped me going to Azkaban. If you need a favour, I will do it. I’m not saying I’ll enjoy it, or I won’t complain about it, but I’ll do whatever you need.”

Harry stared at him.

Malfoy blinked slowly. “What, Potter? Were you hoping I’d say, ‘You’re never taking me alive!’ and put up a fight? Did you want to stun me?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Harry admitted. Malfoy laughed. Once again, Harry enjoyed it more than he should have.

“So honest, our Saviour,” Malfoy said. “Well, if you want a fight, I’m happy to oblige, but we both know that you’re a lot more powerful than me. I’m packing a much bigger punch these days, of course, but clearly you’ve been getting stronger, too. The power you’re putting out could light up a city. What a fucking show off.”

Harry gave a reluctant laugh into his drink. “Don’t distract me Malfoy. We need to get back to England. Hermione’s in danger.”

“Come on then, Scarhead,” said Malfoy evenly. “I’ll pack my bags and you can tell me about it.”

They walked up a wide staircase to a vast master bedroom overlooking the sea. Harry sat in a plush armchair while Malfoy pulled out a suitcase and began wandlessly transferring clothing into it.

“Hermione is in St Mungos,” Harry began. Malfoy looked at him, frowning. “She’s the Deputy Minister for Magic.”

“I do get the Daily Prophet International Edition, you know. I’m not entirely ignorant,” Malfoy said, waving several pairs of gold- and silver-striped boxer briefs into his bag.

“She’s been researching dark magical artefacts as part of her work making it an offence to own certain types of items,” Harry continued. “We found her last week, in her office, completely unconscious, clutching something. It’s like a little circle with a hole in the middle, very old, I’m informed. They’ve tried everything to work out what kind of curse it’s got on it or what it does. None of our experts have a clue. They said Laurent de Vere was the only person who might know. I’ve got a whole pile of your academic papers that I’m supposed to have read.”

“Don’t tax yourself on my account,” Malfoy said condescendingly. “It’s possible I can figure it out. I don’t want to make any promises though.”

“The healers are working on her too,” said Harry. “Ron’s beside himself. The kids are at the Weasleys. I feel like it’s my job to fix it. There’s nothing else I can do. Except try to get hold of this mysterious de Vere guy.”

“You looked like you knew who was going to open the door, though,” said Malfoy.

“The New Zealand ministry tried to track you down and failed. They sent an animagus disguised as some fat pigeon. I saw you outside with some Muggle called Anton.”

Malfoy looked as though he was struggling to remember Anton. “Dark tan, muscular, longish black hair, hot?”

“That’s the one. Very hot.” _Not as hot as you._

Malfoy glanced at Harry as if he’d heard the qualifier. “That was a while ago. Right. I’m done. Let’s go. By the way, Potter, I love the way you’re defying the stereotypes.”

They walked into Malfoy’s study, where he had his own portkey. Harry narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that there’s a stereotype that all gay men are really well dressed and well groomed. And here you are, bucking the clichés and rocking your awful clothes and your perpetually dreadful hair. You’re so brave to be a role model for lazy gay men everywhere.”

Harry laughed and Malfoy smiled back at him.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Malfoy.”

“I have, a bit,” he said, and off they went.

\\\\\

They arrived at St Mungos six hours later and Harry was dead on his feet, feeling filthy. He found a shower at St Mungos and got changed. It didn’t help the exhaustion. Malfoy remained as cool and beautiful as ever in his elegant tailored clothing, unrumpled by the portkey travel. Together they walked into Hermione’s room. Luckily Ron had gone to get breakfast, otherwise it would have been awkward to explain Malfoy. They sat in two of the uncomfortable chairs near Hermione’s hospital bed. Hermione lay motionless, hair spread on the pillow, eyes closed, hand still curled up as though the disk remained in her grasp. In fact someone from the Ministry had brought it in a box and handed it to Harry, who passed it to Malfoy. He opened the box, took one look inside, and his face didn’t change. Harry had no clue what Malfoy was thinking.

After staring at the object for a long moment, Malfoy looked at Harry. “Could be worse,” he said calmly. “I think I can bring her around. I don’t know how she’ll be, though.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Yes. I can see why nobody else recognised it, though. It’s an amulet, slightly unusual design, which sends people into a calm place. It’s an old Papua New Guinean way of treating mental illness.”

“How does it work?”

“Basically, before there were wands it took a lot of power to do magic. You had to master wandless magic. You can imbue objects with magic wandlessly if you’re a strong witch or wizard and you know what you’re doing. This is a simple charm, but it takes a big kick of power to use it. Granger would have held it and probably didn’t even realise what she’d done when she sent her mind into a different realm.”

“You can bring her back?”

“I can,” Malfoy hesitated. “However, this spell was normally used to send someone to a calm realm for just a few hours. If she’s been there for over a week, I really don’t have any idea how it will have affected her. You had better call the healers. I’ll bring her back now.”

Harry stared at him.

Malfoy waved his hand in front of Harry’s face. “Seriously Potter, are you alright? You’re an absolute mess. Pull yourself together and call the healer, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry tried not to cry as he fetched the healer, then they both watched as Malfoy held the o-shaped stone up to his mouth and spoke quietly to it. Harry could feel Malfoy’s own magic emanating into the room, focused around his hand. It reminded Harry of when he spoke to the magic snitch Dumbledore had left him, in the Forbidden Forest all those years ago. Malfoy then took the disk and pressed it into Hermione’s hand firmly. Harry and the healer held their breath for a beat, then Hermione drew in an enormous gulp of air and opened her eyes. She seemed dazed, but as soon as her eyes caught on Harry he could see that he recognised her. He drew her into a hug and tears rolled down his face. They spoke quietly for a few minutes while the healer ran to get help and Malfoy owled Ron. Not long after, more healers flooded the room, monitoring Hermione, and Ron came running in, not even seeing Malfoy. Harry allowed himself to be edged out of the room with Malfoy.

“Well,” Malfoy said. “My work here is done.”

“I’ll take you to your hotel,” said Harry.

“Alright,” said Malfoy, squinting at Harry suspiciously.

Arriving in the plush lobby, Harry was too tired to be surprised that Malfoy was staying at a boutique London Muggle hotel. He went with Malfoy up the lifts and to the door of his room. He watched Malfoy walk inside as Harry leaned against the doorway.

“For fuck’s sake Potter, are you planning on going home to be alone now? Because I’m pretty sure you’re going to pass out in the street and then I’m going to be blamed when seagulls peck you to death, or something. 'Chosen One Killed Due to ex-Death Eater Negligence', I can see the headlines now. I really don’t want that kind of publicity, in case you hadn’t worked that out for yourself. This is a two-bedroom suite and you’ve still got your bag. Come in and sleep here.”

Suddenly Harry couldn’t think of any reasons why it was a bad idea, so he did. He was asleep within seconds of lying down. It wasn’t until he woke up that he realised how much he must trust Malfoy, and how stupid that was. But so far, Malfoy was proving not only harmless, but also excellent company. It was the sound of voices that woke Harry; he walked into the living area to find Malfoy had ordered food.

“Potter. Didn’t mean to disturb your beauty sleep. Good news, Hermione seems fine. Quite relaxed actually. Ron’s with her now. Apparently you should go back for another visit on Monday when the healers have finished checking her out.”

Harry felt a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. He wanted to hug Hermione, and Ron, and – weirdly – Malfoy. “Malfoy, thank you so much, I can’t even tell you…”

“Don’t mention it. And I mean that quite literally. Please do not mention it. I still owe you far more than you owe me. So shut up, Scarhead.” Malfoy waved at the table. “There’s food here if you want it. Perhaps you could put on a shirt, since this isn’t a swim-up buffet in Honolulu.” Harry didn’t even think Malfoy had looked at him, but he found a clean shirt and grabbed a burger. It was strangely companionable.

“You know something, Malfoy?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I never thought I’d stop hating your insults,” Harry continued. “But these days I’m finding them quite enjoyable.”

“Oh, what a relief,” Malfoy said acidly, wiping his hands on a napkin. “I would hate to think I’d offended you, oh Chosen One. Too many people sucking up to you?”

“Yeah, that or terrified,” Harry scowled, remembering the way people scattered when he walked around the Ministry.

“Well, it’s not as though you’ve got that on your own.”

Harry laughed. “I suppose you’ve still got people scared of you in London?”

“Scared of me, sorry for me, or they loathe me,” Malfoy replied. “I can’t believe I stayed here for two years.”

“You did?”

“Yes, after the trials – thanks for that by the way…”

“I got your letter,” Harry said.

“Mmm, well. After the trials, my father was in Azkaban and my mother had gone to live with her sister. I was in the Manor on my own with the house elves. Our money was gone and I I still had to support my mum and pay for the house. I couldn’t go out without being hexed, I had no wand and I had no friends. Fun times.” He said it as though he were describing the plot of a particularly boring tv show.

Harry felt a pang of guilt. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot about your wand. I still have it somewhere. Do you want it back?”

“No, I decided if you could do wandless magic, I could try. So I learned. And I had a library full of old books to help me, and a range of weird magic objects, and eventually I worked out all kinds of magic that nobody else knew much about. In the end I came up a new name, published a lot of my research, and finally invented the AllOne. That made me enough money to leave England and start again in New Zealand. The weather’s much better,” he said calmly, “and almost nobody knows who I really am.”

“Lonely?” Harry asked, recognising the same notes in Malfoy’s voice that he heard in his own head.

“Why? Are you lonely, Potter? What about all your many loyal friends and fans?”

“Fans aren’t friends. And most of my friends are married with kids. I’m still single, I’m antisocial and I live on my own. I can’t tell if I’m a workaholic because I love working or because I don’t have anything to go home for.”

“Powerful, rich and handsome, and a grumpy bastard. Lucky you’ve got me to complain to, nobody would believe me if I told them.” Malfoy seemed to be enjoying himself far too much.

Harry gave him a look. “Look who’s talking: powerful, rich and handsome, and a bored bastard.”

Malfoy grinned. “We are handsome, aren’t we?”

Harry laughed. “Sure we are.”

“So let’s go out. Let’s celebrate fixing Hermione and being powerful, rich and handsome. Take me to a wizarding club. Are there any gay wizarding clubs?”

“How did you know I was gay?”

“I live in New Zealand, not on the moon. I read the news. Besides, I can always tell, these days.”

Harry decided to ignore that. “There aren’t any gay wizarding clubs, we’re too small a group. I know a few places we can try, but it could be carnage.”

\\\\\

It was carnage. They escaped from the wizarding nightclub after an hour, during which time they had failed to secure even a single drink. Harry couldn’t move for people wanting his autograph and Malfoy had been recognised. Someone had photographed the two of them and Harry had chased the witch down to delete the photo, leaving Malfoy being interrogated by Harry’s fans about his nefarious intentions and almost hexed.

“Merlin’s bollocks, Potter, is that what it’s like every time you go out?” Malfoy asked as they ducked into a doorway along the road.

Harry nodded glumly. “There is a place I go. A Muggle place though, you wouldn’t want to go there.”

“Try me,” said Malfoy. “I spend a lot of time with Muggles these days. If they’re fit, I find I can forgive their cluelessness.” He gave Harry a wry smile.

The Muggle club was one of London’s longest-running gay venues. It was all Muggles aside from Malfoy and Harry; they got a lot of attention when they walked in. One of the Muggles Harry had met before came straight over. He was a cute dark-haired guy with a nose ring and impressive abs under a thin singlet top.

“Harry! My god, who is this?”

Harry hesitated for a moment about what name to give Malfoy. “Laurent, this is Mark. Mark, this is Laurent.”

“Are you two a couple?” Mark asked.

“No,” they both said.

“Oh thank god,” Mark replied. “It wouldn’t really be fair, after all.”

“What wouldn’t be fair?” asked Malfoy.

“Harry!” said Mark. “He doesn’t get to be hot and rich and mysterious and then get a boyfriend that looks like you. The universe has to give the rest of us mere mortals a chance!” It was fun to watch Malfoy try to decide whether to be flattered by the compliment to himself or annoyed by the praise of Harry.

“Pull a lot here, does he, even with that terrible hair?” asked Malfoy.

“If he wants to,” said Mark, taking Malfoy’s arm. “Although none of the guys he pulls will ever tell us anything about it. It’s like he’s made them all sign a non-disclosure before he fucks them!” He laughed and squeezed Malfoy’s arm. Harry found himself liking Mark less and less.

Malfoy turned and gave Harry a look. It was a look that said, ‘I know you’ve been using a confundus charm on these Muggles and you are Head Auror and that makes it even more delicious.’ Harry gave him a look back, one that said, ‘What are you going to do about it?’

Mark dragged Malfoy off to the dance floor and Harry had to suffer as the pair of them drew everyone’s attention, Malfoy dancing like he was made of mercury and Mark watching him with eyes full of lust. Mark wasn’t the only one. A huge bruiser of a guy began grinding against Malfoy’s arse; if Harry hadn’t known Malfoy could protect himself he would have been panicking slightly. In fact, when the bruiser grabbed hold of Malfoy’s jaw, hard, and pulled his face, speaking in his ear, Harry started walking over. Then Malfoy said something else to him and the big guy backed away suddenly and ran for the bathroom. Malfoy made eye contact with Harry and winked.

Mark came over to Harry, bringing his friend Dave with him. Dave was a slender mousey-haired man of only about 20, a little shy, quite adorable in his own way, though not Harry’s type. The three of them sat down in a booth, Dave pressing close to Harry and twinkling at him as they spoke. Harry wanted to keep an eye on Malfoy, but the two men kept distracting him. Dave had most of his body pressed up against Harry by the time Malfoy found them, gleaming with sweat and looking utterly lickable. If you liked that sort of thing, which Harry supposed he definitely didn’t. Or shouldn’t.

Dave and Mark certainly noticed. Mark’s pupils dilated even further and he beckoned Malfoy to sit down next to him.

“So, Laurent, that big dude was all over you, is he not your type?” Mark asked.

“Bit aggressive for me,” said Malfoy. “Tried to tell me what I was going to do for him. I don’t like being told what to do, I’m not at school anymore.”

Mark and Dave laughed. Malfoy looked at Harry again, and Harry smiled knowingly.

“What do you like?” Mark persisted, touching Malfoy’s arm. “Telling someone else what to do?”

“I like someone who knows his own mind and won’t back down in an argument,” said Malfoy, wiping one tuft of damp hair back off his forehead. It was shining under the lights. He looked at Harry, who was staring at him. “What do you like, Harry?”

Harry thought for a moment. “I like someone who’ll treat me the way I deserve to be treated,” he replied, and Malfoy threw his head back and laughed so loudly that Dave and Mark both stared at him.

“I like fit guys, with a tan, and a hint of an accent,” said Mark, rubbing against Malfoy with his shoulder. _What a dick_ , thought Harry, wondering how he was going to stop this guy going back to Malfoy’s hotel room. Why that was imperative he didn’t stop to think about.

“I like tall, strong, caring, dark-haired guys,” said Dave, smiling shyly at Harry. Malfoy rolled his eyes and looked away. Then Mark dragged Malfoy out to dance again. Dave tried to get Harry onto the dance floor. Harry refused, watching Malfoy like a hawk the whole time he danced. After two more drinks he decided it was important that he get Malfoy out of there before Malfoy did magic and gave the game away amongst all these Muggles. That made sense, right?

Malfoy didn’t seem to object, although Mark made an enormous fuss and accused Harry of taking Laurent away so he (Harry) could fuck him (Malfoy). Harry ignored Mark and looked at Malfoy, who just shrugged and said, “No, I think I’ll fuck him tonight,” with a wicked grin. That caused a strange feeling in Harry’s stomach, so he took Malfoy to get a kebab. It was four in the morning by the time they had their kebabs and they ate them as they walked back to the hotel. Malfoy found some gristle in his lamb and threw the whole thing away, complaining about being dragged out of the club when he was finally having some fun.

“I’ve come all this way to London and I need some nightlife,” he moaned. “You’re such a killjoy, Scarhead. You’ve always spoiled my fun. And now you’re even grumpier than you’ve ever been. You’re like an old man at the age of 28.”

“Shut up Ferret Face,” said Harry. “And I’m not grumpy right now. Also, I’m staying the night with you again, because my house is depressing and there’s nobody there and I want to show you something.” He threw the last of his kebab away.

“You want to show me something? Your etchings, perhaps? You have the world’s worst pick-up lines. I suppose you don’t need any when you’re the saviour of the wizarding world. Trousers just drop as you walk past, do they? No need to come up with any decent lines?”

“What are you on about, Malfoy? You could have had any guy at that club. You look like a wet dream. When was the last time you needed a pick-up line, you knob-end? Anyway, what did you do to that big guy?”

“Oh, he was a nasty piece of work. I gave him explosive diarrhoea,” Malfoy replied. They were both still laughing about it as they went into the hotel room.

“Wait there, I’m going to show you something,” Harry said, heading into the bathroom. He took off his shirt, cut his hair, shaved his head, cleaned up the mess and went back into the living area, where Malfoy was reading. He looked up in horror. 

“Fuck’s sake, Potter,” he said. “You know, there’s a middle ground. It’s not terrible hair or no hair. You can have something in between. You look bizarre.” Malfoy glanced down at Harry’s bare chest and quickly glanced away again.

Harry stood straight. “Just you wait, Malfoy. I will see you in the morning, and you’ll see why you’re wrong.”

\\\\\

Harry was the first one out of bed the next day, though it was already ten o’clock. Malfoy wandered in half an hour later, wearing a hotel robe that wasn’t quite tied all the way together, leaving a strip of golden chest and a hint of navy blue boxer briefs visible. Harry looked away.

Malfoy started laughing as soon as he saw Harry’s completely restored hair. He didn’t stop for some time.

“Magic fucking hair? If I could make an object that worked like that I’d make another fortune. It’s the end of male pattern baldness. At least you’ll never look like Voldemort. Baldy git,” said Malfoy.

Harry started laughing again – nobody ever talked about Voldemort like that, and he never expected to hear it, least of all from Malfoy.

“Yeah, he was a baldy git!” Harry shouted.

“Oh, I know. What a fucking drama queen,” said Malfoy, setting Harry off into another round of laughter. “Flouncing around with his long fingernails and his robes, making everything into a complete nightmare.”

Harry wiped his eyes and poured Malfoy a glass of orange juice from the room service breakfast he’d ordered when he woke up. Bit cheeky, but fuck it.

“What are you up to today, Draco?” Harry asked.

Malfoy looked startled at hearing his first name, but he replied smoothly enough. “I’m going to the Museum of Magic. They’ve got a box of primitive magic artefacts and they don’t really know what they’ve got, so I said while I was here I’d take a look. Do you want to come with me to check that I’m not up to something nefarious?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

\\\\\

Harry had never been underneath the Museum of Magic before; it was a warren of tunnels and storage rooms, filled with objects he wanted to take a better look at – they were whisked by too quickly. There were some rooms with bars on the doors, as though the contents needed imprisoning, and other rooms that didn’t appear to have a ceiling. It was completely fascinating. Eventually they arrived in a non-descript windowless room with two long tables. A young witch brought them cups of tea and then returned wearing white cotton gloves and carry what looked like a black shoebox. She put it down respectfully in front of Draco, whom she kept calling ‘Mr de Vere’ in tones of utmost reverence. Harry himself had got his usual share of attention at the Museum, but they treated Draco like he was in charge and Harry was his bodyguard. The two of them were left alone in the room, and Draco opened the box.

Harry leaned forward excitedly. There were half a dozen strangely shaped bits of rock and metal in the bottom, all quite small, all sitting quietly together. Draco drew in a breath and let it out with a low noise. Harry found himself watching Draco’s face as he focused all his attention on the objects. Draco had lost his bored, lazy expression. Now he was concentrating, looking almost dangerous, as he thought about what was in the box. He made pages of notes, picking up each item in turn and holding it. It took a long time but Harry wasn't bored. 

When he got to the fifth item, he paused. “Potter,” he started.

“Harry,” Harry said firmly.

“Whatever,” Draco continued. “The Museum doesn’t know what it’s got here. This is very interesting. You see this?” He held up a roughly cube-shaped piece of rock. “This is a really old fertility charm. This could have applications for modern witches and wizards. Hold it.”

Harry pulled back. “Nah, I don’t want this turning into one of those weird things where the next thing you know I’m pregnant. You know that if it’s going to happen to anyone, it’ll be me.”

Draco laughed. “Yeah, it probably would. Doesn’t work like that, though. Only works on women. And it’s not for the witch or wizard. They just prime it, then they give it to the Muggle couple, and it helps them with fertility. I wanted you to hold it so you could feel how old it was. It’s carrying a lot of memories.”

Reluctantly, Harry took hold of the cube. It felt almost like it was pulsing slightly in his hand. It was spooky. He put it back down. “What’s the tiny one?”

He pointed to a little flat piece of red stone, worn smooth like a tiny old coin. Draco picked it up. “It’s a truthstone, pretty simple. You charge it up wandlessly, then pass it to someone who holds it. Or you can hide it on them. Then you ask them a question and it prevents them lying. You want me to show you?”

Harry nodded.

“You’re an idiot, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“You’re an idiot Harry. You’re going to let a former Death Eater experiment on you with an unknown magical artefact. You have no sense of self-preservation. Did they just make you Head Auror for your own safety, so you’d spend less time in the field?”

Harry laughed. “Give me the stone. Would I pass out in your hotel room if I didn’t trust you?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. Then he pressed his fist firmly around the truthstone and Harry felt a surge of power. He passed it to Harry, who held it on his palm. “You can refuse to answer,” Draco said. “It won’t make you talk. It just stops you lying.”

“Okay, ask away,” Harry said.

Draco thought for a second. “When did you figure out you were gay?”

Harry laughed. “Oh, that’s embarrassing. I was a slow learner. I mean, I was kind of distracted, right? Then one day after the war, Oliver Wood invited me to train with his quidditch team, which was awesome. Then after we all got changed and left, I realised I’d forgotten my wand. It was in the changing room. There was loads of security, so I put on my cloak and went to get it. And there was Oliver Wood and another guy on the team. The hot chaser who had just been signed from Nigeria.”

Draco gestured with one hand; “And they were… Try to lie.”

“They were k…” Harry stopped. “K…” He stopped again. “Nah, you’re right, I can’t say it. They were not kissing. The chaser was on his knees, sucking Wood’s cock. Wood came and the chaser swallowed the lot. Then they swapped and Wood sucked the chaser’s cock, and he came in Wood’s mouth and on his chin, then he pulled Wood up to his feet, licked the come off Wood’s face and kissed him. I watched the whole thing from under my cloak and it was the hottest, most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. I have never been so turned on. I went home and wanked myself raw and I knew then that I was one hundred percent gay. I broke up with Ginny the next day. They’re married now. I never told them, I was too embarrassed. Actually, you’re the first person I’ve ever told.”

Draco shifted in his chair. “Never thought I’d get an erection in the Museum of Magic. Just goes to show, you never know what life’s going to throw at you.”

Harry laughed. “What about you?”

“Alright, charge that thing up.”

“How?”

“Just feed some magic into it. You’ve got enough power to run the whole grid, concentrate for once in your life and give that truthstone a bit of magic.”

Closing his eyes, Harry tried his best. Then he passed it to Draco. “Your turn. When did you know you were gay?”

“A bit earlier than you, because I’m a lot more self-aware than you, you clot,” he smiled. “It’s a lot more embarrassing, too. I spent a lot of time hating you, wishing someone would take you down a peg. When you got together with Ginny, I used to wish she would be horrible to you and break your heart. I knew that wouldn’t happen. Then I would imagine her doing demeaning things to you in bed.”

“Like what?” Harry wanted all the details.

“Um. Like making you eat her out for ages and not letting you come. Holding you down and fucking you with a strap-on,” Draco admitted. “Then she started sort of fading out of these weird fantasies and I realised I wanted to do things to... men. And I looked around and it was crystal clear all of a sudden that I’d never had a romantic impulse or a dirty thought that was sparked by a girl. They were all urges that stemmed from boys.”

“I’m still a little concerned about my fantasy self. Did I ever get to come? Because otherwise I don’t think I’m into it.”

“Nah, you’re safe these days. You can have someone who’ll come on your face and then kiss it all away,” Draco said with a grin.

Harry didn’t want to admit exactly how much he wanted that, and how Draco was the only one to ever have nailed it, so to speak. He sat quietly, thinking, while Draco finished taking notes and cataloguing the stones.

When they finally left it was the evening again. He walked Draco back to their hotel room again.

///

“Come inside,” Draco said, and Harry realised he had already planned to.

Draco pulled him by the arm, into the room, and turned back, pressing Harry firmly up against the back of the door. Draco’s thigh pressed between Harry’s legs, their chests together. Draco’s left hand pressed Harry’s right wrist to the door at their side, his right hand holding Harry’s left wrist by his head. It was overwhelming. Every one of Harry’s senses was full of Draco; every cell in his body felt surrounded and engulfed by Draco’s golden warmth and delicious clean-laundry smell. Harry had almost forgotten to breathe when Draco leaned forward and put his ear next to Harry’s.

“Potter, you idiot,” he whispered.

“Harry,” Harry whispered back.

“Harry. I wanted you then and I still want you now. I know I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll whatever I can get. I want to come on your face and lick it off and then kiss you. I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me.” He took a deep breath, then abruptly pulled back and stepped away, leaving Harry feeling like his legs might give way.

“I’m sure you don’t want that and we both know you could do a lot better,” Draco continued, with the bored expression on his face again. “In fact, it’s doubtful you could do any worse. So leave if you want and you don’t need to see me again, okay? I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least give this a shot.”

He turned away.

Harry reached forward as fast as he could on unsteady feet, grabbing Draco’s hand. He slid his other arm around Draco’s waist and pulled their bodies together.

“Draco, I want you, too. Call me an idiot.” Draco looked doubtful. “You’re an idiot, Harry.”

“I am an idiot.” He pressed his mouth to Draco’s, maybe too hard, licking into Draco’s mouth and sliding one hand up to cup the short blonde hair at the back of his head. “I love the way you think I’m an idiot.”

“Harry,” Draco panted, “I don’t exactly think you’re an idiot, you know.”

“I know.” He slid one hand down and cupped Draco’s arse. “You really want to fuck me?”

“What? Oh, I bet all the other guys just assume you’re going to fuck them, huh?” Draco laughed. “No such luck, I want you underneath me. I want you begging for it. I'm happy to be fucked, too, though. Are you sure you want this? You’re not just messing with me?”

“I want you to call me an idiot, boss me around and do exactly what you want with me. But I’m warning you, whatever you do to me I’m going to do right back to you, with interest, so think carefully.”

That made Draco laugh. Harry pressed against him; Draco’s head dropped back as he moaned, exposing the long golden stretch of his throat. Harry pressed his face against it, breathing in the smell of sunshine and rubbing his stubbled mouth against the spot where ear met jaw. Draco made a noise that Harry wanted to hear again.

“I’m going to take those noises as a yes, let me know if that changes,” he said, taking Draco’s hand and leading him into one of the hotel bedrooms, falling back onto the bed and pulling Draco on top of him. Their hands slid into each other’s clothes, easing them off until they were both naked, pressed together.

“Oh you utter nightmare, Potter,” Draco breathed, taking Harry’s face firmly in one hand. “I have spent the last three days thinking about nothing except this. Suck my cock, Harry.”

There was something so hot about those words coming out of Draco’s mouth. “Ask me nicely, you prat.”

“Please Potter, suck me off. Please.”

Harry pulled Draco up his knees and to the edge of the bed, then knelt on the floor. Draco stared down at him then looked away. Harry took one of Draco’s hands and put it on his head. Draco moaned again. Harry nuzzled his face against Draco’s hot silky cock, then licked every inch of it before sliding it as far into his mouth as he could manage. The sensation of Draco’s knuckles against his scalp was fantastic.

“Oh Merlin, how are you so good at that you filthy fucker?” Draco moaned. “You’re going to have to stop before I come.”

Harry laughed and stood up. Draco grabbed him and manhandled him onto his back, straddling him then kissing him fiercely. Harry once again felt encompassed by Draco; their tongues sliding together, bodies aligned, both making dirty little noises of pleasure. Draco accioed the lube. His technique of licking Harry’s cock and balls while sliding several fingers into him was…

“Jesus, stop! You’re going to make me come, Draco – fuck me. Now.”

He laughed, the golden bastard. “If you come, I’ll fuck you anyway.”

“I want to come with you inside me, though.” Draco slapped him hard on the thigh. “Turn over, then.” He put one hand proprietorially on Harry’s back and eased his cock into Harry’s well-lubed arse with the other hand. “Damn, I forgot to make you beg for it. But I really like you like this, under my hands, belonging to me. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he gasped as he pushed balls-deep inside, waiting a beat before drawing back and slowly pushing in again.

“Please, Draco, fuck me harder,” Harry moaned. “Say my name again,” Draco demanded, gripping Harry’s hip with one hand and the back of his neck with the other and pressing one foot against the floor for leverage, using all his strength to fuck into Harry as hard as he could. It felt unbelievable.

“Draco! Please, harder, Malfoy. I love having you inside me.”

When Draco reached around and slid one hand up Harry’s dick, he came violently all over the bed. Draco held him up, thrusting three more times before filling Harry’s arse with hot sticky come. They collapsed onto the bed. Draco rolled off Harry and they lay side by side, getting their breath back.

“I think you just ruined me for all other men,” Harry said with a laugh.

“Good,” said Draco, not laughing at all. He stroked Harry lazily. “Not going to confundus me then, like you do to those poor Muggles?”

“No, I want you to remember everything. It’s my turn next,” said Harry. “As soon as I have the energy, I’m going to suck you and fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow and everyone knows who you belong to.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Draco pulled the covers over them. “Wake me up then.”

Harry smiled as he fell asleep.

\\\\\

_Two months later…_

“Summer in New Zealand, then summer in England. Six months about. It’s perfect,” said Draco, lying back on the sun lounger alongside his beautiful pool.

Harry lay next to him on another sun lounger. It was still hot in New Zealand and Harry was getting a pale golden tan of his own. And Draco didn’t seem at all worried about ruining the cushions when they’d had sex on them earlier, although he did look around for fat wood pigeons before he let Harry take off their clothes.

“What about my job, though?” Harry thought he should put up a token protest.

“You said you didn’t want it any more. If you still want it full time, we’ll have to figure something else out, I guess,” Draco said irritably.

“No, I don’t want to be Head Auror, I’m going to tell them that next week. But I can’t just do nothing! Everyone will think I’m a kept man.”

“Hah! You’ve got enough to keep us both,” laughed Draco. “What do you really want to do?”

“I’d like to help somehow. There’s got to be some charity that will want me.”

Draco rolled his eyes, then closed them. “Everyone wants you, stop fishing for compliments.”

Harry rolled his eyes right back. “You know what I mean.”

“Start your own charity. You can like one of those wives rich guys have who manage the philanthropy. The Scarhead Foundation for Incurable Idiocy. I can just see you now.”

Harry laughed. “This is ridiculous.”

“What is?” Draco asked drowsily.

“It doesn’t seem right that I should be so happy. After everything. That I should get all this.” He waved one hand lazily around. 

“You deserve all this. I don’t know what my excuse is,” Draco said.

“I love you,” said Harry.

“I know.”

“Go on, Han Solo, say it back.”

“What did you call me?”

“Muggle reference. Don’t distract me. Say it back.”

“No.”

“You’ve said it before.”

“Exactly. Once was plenty. I said it, I meant it.”

“Go on. Go on. Go on. I’m going to make you say it. I’ll torture you sexually until you break down.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat? It’s shit.”

“Say it.”

Draco opened his eyes, sat up and glared at Harry. “You’re such an idiot, Potter.”

Harry grinned.

“You’re my idiot, though. And I’m keeping you. I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

Harry nearly fell off his sun lounger. “Are you serious?”

“A marriage proposal is the definition of serious when it comes to these things, Harry. Are you going to give me an answer? Because it’s taken me two months to work up the guts to ask you that.”

“We’ve only been together two months.”

“Come on,” Draco rolled his eyes again. “When have we ever been casual about anything? It was you from the beginning and it’s still you. It will always be you. Will you marry me or not, you infuriating moron?”

Harry lay back on the sun lounger and reached for Draco’s hand, squeezing it. “Yes. But only because you asked me exactly like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading - kudos and comments much appreciated.


End file.
